


will you still love me (when the night steals the day)

by eliestarr



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Inspired by Shadowhunters (TV), M/M, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Sylvix Week 2020 (Fire Emblem), Werewolves, and my brain went full blown au, help this was supposed to be a Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26683321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliestarr/pseuds/eliestarr
Summary: Felix decides it’s safe enough to continue, and gestures to his tattoos with a free hand. “I thought that’s why you asked about the runes at the gym—as a joke.”“No?” Sylvain blinks, seemingly surprised. “That was genuine interest. In them and you.”Felix feels his cheeks heat. “You really are new, aren’t you?”Felix meets a cute guy at the gym, but quickly finds there's far more to Sylvain than meets the eye... Or, a Shadowhunters au. || sylvix week, day 1: urban fantasy
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	will you still love me (when the night steals the day)

**Author's Note:**

> title from _moonrise_ by WILDWOOD. un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I've wanted to write these boys and try and dip my toe into this fandom for ages, so I figured sylvixweek and a prompt that really vibed with me was the perfect place to start. and then I sort of... let it run wild, and have three more plans for this au. oops? knowledge of shadowhunters/mortal instruments not required.

It goes without saying that when Felix meets Sylvain, he doesn’t know what he is, just that he’s _unfortunately_ attractive. 

He’s halfway through a sparring session with Ingrid when the flash of orange catches his eye, mop of hair bobbing past the boxing ring. The split second he diverts his attention is all she needs to land a striking uppercut, and Felix goes down hard. The crack of his jaw reverberates through the gym, as does the emphatic _wump_ of his body hitting the mat. 

On a good day, he’d be proud of the move and congratulate her, but today, he’s irate. “Fuck,” he spits, tasting blood and a stinging bottom lip.

Felix isn’t sure whether he’s happy or annoyed that the redhead doesn’t turn to acknowledge it at all—but he’s _positively_ irritated that his own eyes track the other man’s path all the way to the back of the room, where the weights are. And he isn’t the only one. 

Ingrid’s laugh is high and teasing above him. “Really, Fe? Eye candy?”

“Shut up,” he hisses, brushing away her offered hand to stand on his own. He tilts his head, cracking the soreness out of his neck. He raises his hands, knuckles white, and levels a glare at her. “You won’t be that lucky again.”

Ingrid wipes sweat from her brow, wisps of blonde hair slipping from her ponytail as she shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m ending on that high note. I’ve got a date with Thea in an hour and I’d rather not smell like a sewer.”

Felix wrinkles his nose. “As if she’d be able to tell over the stench of all the disgusting crap burning in her apartment.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes, but it’s affectionate. “The incense helps her focus, Felix. You know that.”

He grunts. She aims for his face when she tosses him his towel off the bench where they’d thrown their things, but he catches it deftly, wiping it gingerly across his sore jaw. He does his best to contain the wince, but there’s a sly quirk to her lips that tells him he doesn’t manage it as well as he’d hoped.

“You know, if you’re looking to go another round…,” he can tell from the way Ingrid trails off, he’s not going to like what comes next. Delight dances across the green of her eyes as she scans the gym, and he can see the moment they land on the redhead. “I’m sure your little admirer wouldn’t say no.”

“My _what—_ ” Felix chokes, and nearly kinks his neck turning to follow her gaze. The redhead is sitting at the bench press, about to start a set, and his back is turned to them. Ingrid’s giggle is a twinkling of bells as Felix spins back to glare at her. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re too easy,” she tells him, patting him on the shoulder as she slips past him. There’s a bounce in her step, a sight that’s common when an evening with her girlfriend is on the horizon. “You should go say hi. He might like that.”

“Ingrid!” Felix hisses, shoulders hunched like a cat’s raised hackles. She raises one hand in a parting wave, grin on her lips almost cheshire-like as she disappears into the locker room. He shakes his head, but there’s still a fond smile painting his mouth as he gathers his water bottle and heads for the fountain. “Dorothea really is rubbing off on her.”

For all her irritating personality and often being more trouble than she’s worth, Felix can’t exactly deny that the High Warlock has been good for Ingrid since they’d started dating. She’d done wonders to bring her out of her shell and boost her confidence, to bring back the bright and starry-eyed girl Felix has known since they’d been children. 

The one that had withered away when Glenn— 

Felix connects with something solid and warm, jumbling his thoughts like loose coins in a jar.

He swears, low and colourful, as he brings a hand up to his aching jaw. As his vision clears and the black spots fade, he finds himself blinking at a broad expanse of pale, freckled skin. He angles his gaze up slightly, and comes face to face with the redhead from earlier, wide grin stretching his mouth rather brilliantly. There’s a delight twinkling in his brown eyes, a sort of golden joy to them that leaves Felix rather unable to find the words to be angry at him.

“Ex _cuse_ me,” Felix says in a huff.

Well, maybe some words.

“Sorry about that!” The smile brightens, somehow. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Weren’t you just…” He frowns, eyes trailing from the water fountain they’re standing on either side of and over to the bench he’d seen him on mere moments ago. The man would’ve had to move pretty fast to get here at the same time as Felix, and he makes his suspicion clear when he looks up at him again. He notes, at this point, that the guy has at least six inches on him in height, and double that in muscle. 

He dutifully ignores the way it dries up his mouth.

The man’s cheeks flush a healthy pink as he rubs at the back of his neck, movement flexing his bicep, and he lets loose a nervous sounding laugh that Felix feels across the tip of his nose. “Okay, so, maybe I did sort of bump into you on purpose.”

The hair at the nape of his neck stands on end, and he feels the always present melody of paranoia deep beneath his skin. He’s thankful his hands are wrapped around a towel and a water bottle, respectively, to avoid the way they suddenly itch to reach for a seraph blade. 

_Relax, Felix. He’s no danger to you._

“Why?” The word is clipped, rife with unease.

“I was uh, wondering if you’d do me a favour and be my spotter?” The question is a little quick and mumbled, and Felix is lucky he’s hanging on every word (out of habitual threat analysis, of course, nothing more) so he’s able to make it out. The guy’s eyes now betray his nerves, and he throws a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the weights. “I wanted to do a bench set, but my gym partner bailed on me. So since you’re the only other person here…”

Felix glances to his right, scanning over the vast and empty expanse of the gym to confirm they are, indeed, alone. 

“Huh,” he says intelligently.

“Just for a set? I promise I won’t keep you long!”

 _See? Harmless_.

Felix idly thinks his inner voice sounds far too much like Ingrid’s encouragement, maybe bordering on Dorothea’s pestering. It’s annoying. 

“Sure,” he shrugs.

The resulting smile that spreads across the redhead’s face is nearly blinding. He turns on his heel and strides back towards the weights, and Felix has to walk a little faster than normal to stay astride of the taller man. He watches as he settles in on the bench, flat on his back and fingers wrapped around the bar above him. The broad expanse of his pale skin, awash with freckles that match his hair colour, are a stark contrast against the dark leather bench and grey carpet beneath. His brown eyes reach up towards Felix, wide and expectant.

“I’m Sylvain, by the way.”

Felix blinks, taken aback. He slowly, carefully sets down his water bottle and towel to free up his hands, but they hover awkwardly at his sides as he answers. “Felix.”

“Nice to meet you, Felix.” And then the guy hoists the bar off it’s resting place, and starts his set. 

“You too…,” he says quietly, looking anywhere but at the muscles lining Sylvain’s biceps, or the constellation of scars plainly visible against his reddening skin, or the number on the weights he’s lifting.

(It’s nearly as much as Felix’s own weight, and the knowledge draws a shaky breath out of him.)

“Your tattoos are pretty cool.”

Sylvain’s words neatly startle him out of his skin. He hadn’t exactly expected to make small talk while dutifully trying _not_ to ogle the man as he worked out. “Uh, thanks?”

Felix has fought hundreds of demons over the course of his time with the Academy, repeatedly danced with death and experienced some of the most painful magical related injuries out there—yet he has never wished for a quick death more than in this moment. There’s something disarming about the other man, and while Felix is not incredibly well-versed in people (in fact, Dorothea likes to joke that he’s rather allergic), he seems to have an added layer of social inability when faced with this… oversized ray of sunlight.

“Do they— _hng_ —mean anything special?” Sylvain pauses to speak every time the bar hovers against his chest, muscles straining. 

“They’re…,” he pauses, uncertain just how to explain his runes to a mundane, when he’s never been around one long enough to have to. “Spiritual?”

The irony of the half truth almost makes him laugh.

Sylvain’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Must be pretty special if you have a bunch of matching ones with your girlfriend.”

Felix hears the words, but they don’t process correctly. His brows furrow involuntarily as his eyes settle into a squint, trying to ensure he heard the other man correctly. “My _what_.”

Sylvain lets out a heavy breath, hoisting the bar up high. He seems unfazed by Felix’s inability to hold a conversation, thankfully. “The girl you were sparring with earlier?”

This time, it’s disgust that marrs Felix’s face, wrinkling his features and pursing his lips. “Ew,” he says plainly, and Sylvain lets out a bark of laughter beneath him. “No, no. Ingrid’s just—she’s like a sister.”

 _Or as close as she’ll ever be, with Glenn dead_. His left hand curls around his right bicep, his thumb brushing over the parabatai rune at his inner elbow. Faintly, he can picture Ingrid’s matching rune, nestled on her left wrist, mere inches from the bracelet his brother had given her as kids. The one she never took off, and that he sometimes caught her fiddling with whenever she was nervous and thought no one was looking.

(He's never brought it up. The subject is a sore and disquieting thing between them.)

“Felix?” The name pulls him from his thoughts, dragging him through his quicksand of memories. His gaze snaps up and away from the rune, and he finds that Sylvain is sitting up on the bench now, rubbing a towel over the back of his neck and looking at him with worried brown eyes. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, and he can’t help but wince. “Didn’t mean to space out on you.”

“It’s alright,” Sylvain’s smile is a little more comfortable now, relaxed, but there’s still a nervous energy to his eyes, and the way he looks away from Felix as he speaks next. “Just didn’t want to have offended you, that’s all.”

Felix frowns. “By asking if Ingrid was my girlfriend?”

Sylvain bites his bottom lip. “By asking if she wasn’t your type.”

The statement feels loaded, and settles on Felix’s chest like a weight, applying the lightest pressure to his lungs. He feels bad, suddenly, realizing he must’ve missed the question entirely by wandering through his own mind. 

And then, of course, his brain catches up to the reason _why_ Sylvain might be asking this. While sporting a very definite flush on his cheeks that hasn’t anything to do with having worked out. 

Felix attempts a gentle smile. “No. She definitely isn’t.”

The blush abates a little, and the redhead seems to sit up a little straighter, wiping the towel down his neck to his chest. Felix tries very hard not to follow it with his eyes, or notice the way his skin glistens with sweat. The fact that there’s the faintest smell of wet dog permeating the air, something that Felix is quite sure wasn’t present beforehand, definitely helps.

It takes all his self control not to be blunt and ask about it, something he can almost hear Dorothea comment on in his head. _You? Not wanting to be rude? That’s new_.

(Perhaps she’s rubbing off on him, too.)

“Well,” Sylvain says, slowly rising to his feet. He tosses his towel towards a duffel bag, and smiles towards the shorter man. “Thanks for the spot, Felix.”

“No problem,” he nods, finding the words a little easier now. “I was done for the day anyway.”

Sylvain’s eyes seem to light up, a sparkle of honeyed hope. “Yeah? Well, in that case, maybe as thanks I could treat you to—”

_—brrrrrrrrrring—_

There’s a vibration at Felix’s wrist, and a shrill tone that echoes through the gym, bouncing off the walls and metallic equipment like an arcade machine. He glances at his watch with a flicker of annoyance bubbling in his chest, and sees the Academy’s symbol glow to life on the little screen.

It means there’s trouble. The demonic kind.

He winces as his gaze finds Sylvain’s. “I’m sorry,” Felix says, backing away. And he isn’t sure, but he thinks this might be the first time he’s meant it when it comes to ditching someone for Academy business. “I have to go.”

Sylvain’s smile is a little sad, but there’s almost a sort of understanding in his eyes. “See you around?”

“Yeah, maybe!” Felix calls across the room, lifting a hand to wave. And he kind of means that, too. His wrist watch pings again, this time with a map location, and Felix sprints out of there without looking back. 

* * *

Two nights later, Felix gets his wish.

He’s on patrol with Ingrid, on the usual route that brings them through the _Azure Moon_ , a Downworlder den and bar. They’re prone to checking-in on the Faerghus werewolf pack whenever they can, not only because they’re the largest and most well-known in the city, but because some of the wolves are friends, and good informants to boot. And considering the demon they’d faced the other day escaped after seriously wounding one of their own, both Shadowhunters are looking for anything that’ll help scratch the vengeful itch they’re feeling. 

Dedue nods politely at them as they enter the bar, a ghost of a smile on his lips as Ingrid greets him warmly. He’s a massive, hulking werewolf, and typically stationed at the door like one would a bouncer at a club when they’ve got a full house. 

The inside of the bar is bustling; the din of conversation a buzzing, raucous thing, with something mournful yet energetic thumping through the overhead speakers. Nearly every table is full, packed with laughter and the clinking of beer bottles and glasses. Felix winces at the sight of so many people, same as he always does on busy nights at the _Azure Moon_ , but scans the crowd for their intended target all the same. He passes a handful of familiar faces as he does, the higher ranking wolves in the pack that they’ve worked with before.

Mercedes is the first to notice them, blows them a kiss as she drops several plates of sizzling food at a nearby table. The group of wolves seated there all look like they’re salivating, eyes aglow with anticipation, and Felix can’t blame them. He knows the woman’s cooking is unparalleled. 

Ashe, one of the youngest and smallest of the Faerghus pack, dances around a group of fae girls at a back table. His arms are waving about animatedly, and while Felix is sure he’s weaving quite the tell to impress the ladies he’s talking to, he knows it’s just a distraction; sleight of hand that allows him to pick every pocket he can reach. Felix would find it impressive, if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of it the first three times they’d met. 

Dimitri leans against the back wall of the bar, arms crossed and half shrouded in shadows, keeping an ever watchful eye on the place. Felix can tell the moment the alpha spots them, because he blows a wisp of hair away from his eyepatch, and disappears into the back to wait for them. 

“Guess that means he has news for us,” Ingrid says somewhere to his left, but Felix isn’t really listening—because his eyes have wandered to the bar counter.

Annette, the small and incredibly friendly wolf bartender, is at the cash register ringing through a bunch of orders, cash and coin held between her fingers. There’s a silver platter of drinks next to her, ready to go.

But it’s the _other_ redhead behind the bar that catches Felix’s attention. Catches it and holds it, knocking the air from his lungs like he’s been thumped in the chest by Petra’s roundhouse kick in a sparring match. Several horrible little puzzles pieces click into place at once. 

(The scars. The wet dog scent. The interest in his runes. Perhaps even the lack of surprise when the Academy had called him for a mission.)

The second bartender at _Azure Moon_ is a ray of sunshine in an otherwise abysmal establishment, run by ill-tempered and foul-smelling werewolves. He looks at home in his blue plaid and dark wash jeans, filling a large pint glass with golden, frothy beer from one of the taps. He adds it to Annette’s tray as she slips past him, and they beam at one another. 

“Oh my god,” Ingrid says beside him, and Felix assumes she’s followed his line of sight directly to Sylvain. _Again_.

“Hm,” he hums in agreement, and then steps into the bar, headed for the back. He purposely takes the path that leads him furthest from the bar, and he can almost _feel_ Ingrid’s frown boring into the back of his head.

She’s at his side in an instant, just a breath from his elbow. “What are you doing?”

“What we came here to do,” Felix says, matter-of-factly, weaving between two tables. A handful of werewolves spare them cautious glances, watching from the corners of their eyes or squinting over the top of their pint glasses. Felix is used to it, as any number of patrons unfamiliar with them do it whenever they pass through, but it always unsettles him, raising the hair at the back of his neck and making his fingers itch for the comfort of a seraph blade. 

Ingrid _tsks_ him in response. “What about your little admirer?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “I’m not falling for that twice, Ingrid.” He nods his head at Ashe as they pass him, and the young silver-haired boy winks. The trio of fae girls he’s occupied with seem to think it’s for their benefit, and set off a series of tittering giggles and batted lashes at him. “Besides, we’re working.”

“No, I really mean it this time!” She insists, and just as he reaches the back door through which Dimitri had disappeared, the one that leads to the alpha’s office, Ingrid slides under his arm and in front of him. There’s a bright, supportive grin on her lips, and her eyes dart past his shoulder to look the way they’d came—or more accurately, towards the bar. “He’s been watching you since we walked in.”

“So has everyone else,” Felix sighs. “We’re Shadowhunters, they’re Downworlders. It’s what they do, Ingrid; Sylvain’s not special.” 

She raises one perfectly plucked brow, and Felix knows he’s made his first mistake. She leans closer to him, almost conspiratorially. “Well, _Sylvain’s_ the only wolf in here that looks at you like you’re a meal, Fe.”

There’s a loud, howling laugh in the room beyond, and this time when Felix rolls his eyes, it isn’t fond. “Fuck off, Beast!”

The amusement cuts short, curling into a snarl instead. He raises one hand and flips off the door, as though Dimitri can see him, or something. _Stupid werewolf hearing._

“Look,” Ingrid taps two fingers against his chest, tilting her head in a way that dangles one of her hair ribbons over her ear. “I think I can handle the big bad wolf alone tonight, yeah? You tend to set him off, anyway.”

Felix takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest, and more or less resigning himself to his fate. He knows once Ingrid gets an idea in her head that she’s very difficult to budge. “Because he has no _manners_.” 

“Mhmm,” Ingrid hums, smiling in a way that tells him she’s rather proud of herself. “Well, how about you have some manners and go talk to your little wolf boy, yeah? Make up for running out on him the other day?”

Felix stares very hard at the ceiling, and hopes that the ground simply swallows him whole. “I wish I’d never told you that.” It wasn’t like he’d had a choice, the amount of vodka they’d put into their systems to cope with nearly losing Ferdinand that night. It was why this meeting with Dimitri was so important, if it offered them a lead on what demon had sliced him up. The whole Church was looking for a little payback.

“No take backs, unfortunately.” There’s a gentle push on his chest, and he brings his gaze back down to see her slipping past the door and into the back room. “Off you go!”

He grumbles, audibly, but allows her to disappear out of sight, swinging the door shut on his nose with a tone of finality. With a heavy sigh, Felix turns and heads towards the bar. There’s a handful of tables that have cleared out, lowering the volume in the place somewhat. His eyes still scanning the crowd of Downworlders, he picks a stool at the end of the back counter, so he has a view of the whole establishment. Mostly it’s out of habit, him choosing a vantage point that puts something solid at his back, and wide open space stretching before him, but it also means that in sweeping the bar with a careful gaze, he can do his best to not look like he’s waiting around for a certain redhead. 

He notices almost immediately that Ashe has left the group of fae girls, who seem to be enjoying themselves rather easily in his absence, bobbing along to whatever song is crooning out of the overhead speakers. He doesn’t recognize them as anyone from the local court, so either they’re new, or just Downworlders that don’t frequent the _Verdant Wind_ nightclub.

There’s also, surprisingly, what appears to be a vampire at the front, judging by the extremely dated Victorian outfit she’s wearing. She’s blonde and talking to Mercedes, but Felix doesn’t manage to get much more of a look beyond that, however, because a glass slides across the wood bar top towards him, and the moisture of it is cold to the touch as it settles against his arm.

When he looks up, Sylvain is standing there, his smile cheerful and disarming as ever. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Felix starts, gaze flickering down to the golden liquid poured carefully over ice and then back up. “Uh, I’m sorry, I’m… working?”

Sylvain tilts his head, as though he doesn’t understand. There’s definite confusion marring his golden-brown eyes and curiosity raising one brow. Felix frowns, and there’s a long pause where he finds himself looking for any sign of a joke in the bartender’s gaze. 

Instead, he finds blatant honesty. It somehow encourages him to speak up. “I wouldn’t say no to a Seltzer, though.”

Sylvain’s resulting smile is wide and near blinding. He whisks the glass away, sliding it across the counter to a different patron, and plucking an empty one from a shelf. Felix watches, sort of entranced, as the bartender throws in some ice that clinks around the glass, flips the whole thing from one hand to the other, and sprays the soda water into place. He doesn't think he’s ever taken the time to watch Annette flourish and flip around special drinks, and it’s pretty cool.

When Sylvain returns, he graciously accepts it and takes a slow and cursory sip. He notices, just over the rim of the glass, that the bartender is watching him curiously, still. 

Felix swallows, hard, and sets down the glass. “Do you… really not know what I am?”

He says it low, a futile effort when the bar is full of werewolves, and he looks past Sylvain a moment later to see Annette watching them with cautious interest as she works. A glance or two, and a near permanent twist to her body language suggesting she’s observing out of the corner of her eye. 

Felix decides it’s safe enough to continue, and gestures to his tattoos with a free hand. “I thought that’s why you asked about the runes at the gym—as a joke.” 

“No?” Sylvain blinks, seemingly surprised. “That was genuine interest. In them and you.”

Felix feels his cheeks heat. “You really are new, aren’t you?”

The look he receives is nervous and shy, and Sylvain rubs the back of his neck a little awkwardly. “Only turned a few weeks ago.”

He remembers, vaguely. He’d been walking past the briefing room on the way to the library when he’d overheard Rhea and Seteth’s conversation about a vicious werewolf attack a few towns over, on a college campus. Some rogue omega that they’d sent Jeritza to dispatch, if he remembers. They’d said something about the Faerghus pack registering him, but Felix had thought it strange, at the time. 

After all, the pack rarely _ever_ added to their ranks. They were tight knit, fiercely loyal, a kind of family that went back generations. In fact, other than taking in Dedue after his entire pack had been wiped out… well, Felix hadn’t heard of it happening in his lifetime, anyway.

As though he can read it clearly on Felix’s face, Sylvain answers. “I’ve known Dimitri since we were kids. His family and mine go way back. He found me, as soon as he heard. He and the others have taught me a lot since I moved here, but…” As he trails off, his eyes trail over Felix, soaking in the runes visible on his arms, cascading out from his t-shirt in whorls of black that wrap and twist across his skin.

“But apparently not enough to know a Shadowhunter when you see one,” Felix finishes. 

Sylvain reddens, eyes snapping back up to meet his. “Yeah.” He rubs nervous at the back of his neck again. “They mostly focused on werewolf basics and rules from the Accords, but just kind of… generalized everything else. Said I’d learn in time.”

There’s a pause then, heavy and weighed between them. Felix feels like he’s standing on the precipice of a cliff, and has no idea what’s at the bottom, waiting for him to jump. As he sits there, back stiff and gaze locked with Sylvain’s, he wonders if the werewolf can hear his heart thundering in his chest as he gathers the courage to speak.

He sort of wishes he could activate the rune on his back for a little extra boost right about now. 

“Well,” he says, and then clears his throat to clear the tremble that wavered through the word. “I’d be happy to teach you, if you’d like. After all, it’s… important to know what’s out there.”

Sylvain smiles, a move that Felix is quickly learning to appreciate for it’s ease and charm, the warmth it carries like a sunlight spell. “I’d like that. And I still owe you for the gym.”

“Yes,” Felix nods. “Of course.”

“Well, uh, what time do you—”

The parabatai rune on Felix’s arm burns, and he watches Sylvain’s eyes flash gold before the door to the back office slams open, banging hard enough against the wall to fracture and crack brick. There’s a loud hiss that’s quickly overwhelmed by a deep roar that rumbles the ground like an earthquake, rattling the glasses and liquor bottles where they sit on their shelves. There’s a flash of light, and then a swirling dark cloud crackling with white electricity comes flying through the bar, startling patrons out of their seats. 

Some of the wolves are already half transformed, with fur sprouting on the sides of their arms and the sides of their faces, eyes glowing either gold or blue. 

“Ingrid!” Felix shouts, stumbling from the bar stool and rolling his right wrist just enough to summon his seraph blade. As Aegis materializes out of thin air, overhead lights dancing across the curve of silver, he hears Sylvain curse softly behind him.

“I’m okay—” she responds, and relief floods him like a broken dam. “Dimitri took most of the hit so I could tag it. Go!” 

His feet set him in motion before she’s even finished the sentence. Angry and startled werewolves step back as he darts for the front door, pulling his _stele_ free of his belt pouch with his left hand. Felix traces it over the tracking rune on his right bicep, and it flares to life as he skids onto the pavement outside the bar. His boots slosh through the puddle of water that’s gathered there, and he swears as rain beats down on his skin.

It won’t affect the tracking spell already honing it on Ingrid’s tag signal, manifesting in a bright, green-blue trail in the air above him that he can follow straight to the demon—but it will annoy the absolute shit out of him. He uses that to spur him onward, streaking through the night, down the street and into an alley when the trail curves. 

It’s a moment before he notices he’s not alone.

Running in tandem with him is Sylvain, midway between man and beast, the kind of turn that happens on moons that aren’t full. His ears are pointed, and russet coloured fur sprouts along his jawline and the joints in his arms, poking out of his shirt at his chest. When he grins over at Felix—that same bright, sunlight smile that’s excited, if a little wild at the edges now—there’s rows of long, pointed teeth between his lips, and his honey brown eyes flash gold when the street lamps hit them, or as lightning flashes above them.

“I’m sure I could’ve let you run out on me again and raincheck!” Sylvain shouts over the din of the rain pelting the pavement, and thunder in the distant sky. There’s a soft growl framing his words, and the lightest slur caused by the fangs in his mouth. It sets something aflutter in Felix's stomach. “But I’m more of a visual learner, y’know?”

Felix can’t help but laugh. “A little much for a first date, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but that thing hurt my friend, and besides—” the flash of teeth is nearly blinding, the joy and anticipation evident in the curve of his lips sets the Shadowhunter’s heart aflutter in his chest. “Where’s the fun in playing it safe?”

For Felix, a man who’s typically a stickler for the rules and not a big fan of improvisation, usually there’s quite a lot. But he gets the sense that Sylvain lives a tad more chaotically than he’s used to, and he finds that when he thinks about it, he doesn’t mind that.

“Maybe just this once,” Felix grins, twirling the seraph blade in his right hand. “First lesson in demon hunting—”

He skids around the next corner, swinging the Aegis up into the air—directly where the swirling mist had come to a stop, waiting to ambush them. It lets loose a horrible screech and plummets to the ground, and the demon takes physical form as it rolls across the pavement, crashing loudly into the dumpster a few feet ahead of them.

“—always expect a trap.”

Sylvain’s lips widen into something near feral, eyes flashing gold as he stands to his full height, now _several_ inches taller than Felix. He tilts his neck to one side, and the resulting crack echoes off the bricks on either side of the alley. His fingers twitch, long, sharp claws curving in towards his palms, and Felix can’t help but smile as the demon pushes itself to its feet, black eyes glancing angrily between them both like a caged animal, tail twitching wildly at its back. It was waiting for either of them to move first, and Felix feels a thrill of excitement ripple through his body like an electric current emanating from Aegis’ hilt.

It hisses, Sylvain howls, and Felix throws himself into the fray.

_A hell of a first date, indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! if you caught any of the little easter eggs I dropped, let me know ;)
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_eliestarr). I'm around sometimes.


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